A Matter of Time
by horseheadnebula42
Summary: Spike has some unexpected thoughts. Set just before Season 5.


_Kll the Slay-er, kill the Slay-er.._

Spike had never been keen on Wagner. He winced as he remembered the time Dru had forced him to sit through the whole of the bloody Ring Cycle, and he'd saved himself from total boredom by counting the hairs on her head. Yet the insistent obbligato of _Ride of the Valkyries_ seemed to fit the words he was singing quietly to himself as he cleaned and oiled the stock of his crossbow.

The wince was only partly due to Wagner-induced ennui. Though it was more than a year ago now, the day Drusilla had finally ripped his already-battered heart to ribbons and walked away into the South American jungle with a chaos demon still played itself out in full, painful Technicolour trauma every time he thought of her. "You go away, Spike," she had hissed to him. "You're no use to me any more. That Slayer's got you, good and proper. She's all over you! You'll _never _be able to kill her. Never!"

The next few weeks had been an alcoholic blur. Somehow he had ended up back in London for the first time in almost thirty years. Then, in rapid succession, two things had happened. Firstly, when lurking in an obscure corner of the British Museum looking for someone to eat (it was one of the best places to leave a body in London, no-one would find it for days) he'd come across the manuscript that mentioned the legendary Gem of Amara. The one people had been hunting for a millennium. The one that rendered its wearer invincible.

And where was it? Of all places, Sunnyhell!

Secondly, he'd run into a vamp named Harmony Kendall, who despite being incredibly annoying, had her uses – like, for example, going like a steam hammer on all cylinders, and having been at high school with the Slayer. And at least it gave _him_ someone to hurt for a change. So, two and one and six and nine had joined together, and he'd come quietly back to Sunnydale intending to nab the gem, kill the Slayer and leave –

He'd nabbed the Gem all right. He'd even worn it for about fifteen minutes. He could still remember what it had been like to feel the sun on his face for the first time in over a century. He'd walked boldly out into the grounds of Sunnyhell University and almost immediately, there she wasc

Arguing tearfully with that good-looking lug he'd seen her with at the party with the previous night. Oh, it was so obvious what had happened. And then the lug had laughed at her and walked away, leaving her vulnerable and alone. Just waiting for him to_ -  
_

… _gather her up in his arms, hold her until she stopped crying, kiss the tears from her upturned face and swear to her that he would never let anyone hurt her ever again …_

WHAT?

No! He'd punched her in the face and laughed at her! Unfortunately she had then proceeded to kick his arse, take the Gem from him and send it off to that poncy-haired nincompoop in LA with Dog-Boy. He'd followed it, paid someone to torture the Irish Git until he got it back, only to be double-crossed by the torturer _and_ get his arse kicked again by Soul-Boy. Then, just when he had thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse, he'd arrived back in Sunnydale and those military bastards had got him. Now he had some sort of hi-tech brain implant that stopped him from biting anyone without a major headache.

He'd almost topped himself after that.

But life went on. Spike had always been a survivor.

He put the crossbow down, lifted his double-barrelled shotgun out of the weapons trunk with both hands and began to polish it systematically.

Funnily enough, despite the chip, the Gem and the state of his love life, for the first time in over a year Spike was oddly content. He had quite a good little billet here. His crypt was far enough away from the centre of Sunnydale not to attract too much attention from demons and other vamps, many of whom were on his case these days, and it was only twenty minutes' walk from the Slayer's house. He had an arrangement with several of the butchers in town. He kept the other vamps away from them, and they paid him in blood and raw meat. Some of them used to have the same arrangement with Angel and were only too pleased to keep it up. He'd even managed to rig his telly to pick up cable recently.

And yet -

The Slayer!

She nagged at him, continually, like a loose fang. Everywhere he went she seemed to be there. He often caught her patrolling, whereupon she would generally punch him in the face, yell at him and tell him to get lost. It amused him to stake the odd vamp under her nose, which annoyed her even more. But not as annoyed as when she was forced to ask him for information. He made jolly sure she paid him for it.

Strangely enough, he liked to watch her in action. She was really good. Dammit, she was _magnificent._ To kill her would be the high point of a career which had already mopped up two other Slayers. Then he could go and find Dru, and present her with the Slayer's annoying blonde head. She might even want him back after that.

He hefted the shotgun, pointed it at the crypt wall and sighted down the barrel. Pity he wouldn't be able to use it … not that he would use it on the Slayer, anyway. Blowing her brains out would give him no satisfaction. There was only one way to kill the Slayer, and that was with his fangs in her neck, draining her sweet blood.

And yet – if he killed her – _she'd be gone from his life for ever …_

He sighed and put the gun down. As he did so, his gaze fell on his Oriental throwing knife with the pearl inlaid handle. He picked it up tenderly, tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he remembered that Dru had had it specially made for his hundredth birthday in 1980. Things had been so different then. If he could only get the bloody chip out of his head …

The Initiative facility under the university had been completely destroyed. The only link left to it that he knew of was the Slayer's big military Cub Scout of a boyfriend, Riley Finn. And what a hopeless piece of work _he_ was. It amused Spike immensely to lurk behind a tree and watch the way Finnboy followed the Slayer around like a kicked puppy. Just like Angel used to do. _Pathetic,_ he thought. _You'd never catch me doing that._

What pleased him more than anything was the blindingly obvious difference between Riley's hopeless adoration of the Slayer and _her_ attitude to him. _You blind idiot,_ he thought. _Can't you see she doesn't love you? I've seen what she's like when she's in love, and you just don't cut it, mate. You're not even close._

He put the knife down and stared at the wall. The tears that had been pricking at the backs of his eyes a moment ago began to well in earnest as he imagined holding Dru in his arms, burying his face in her dark hair, feeling her hands on the back of his head and her lips on the side of his cheek … gazing into her almond eyes as he heard her whisper softly "_Tell me you love me …"_

He squeezed his eyes tight shut for a moment. A single tear forced its way out and rolled slowly down his face.

"I love you," he whispered. " I've always loved you. You know I love you …"

But it _wasn't _Drusilla_. _

Golden hair brushing against his shoulder … grey-green eyes gazing longingly up into his … it was _Buffy Summers_, warm and tender in his arms, her heart pounding against his chest, her powerful arms around his neck, her strong little hands buried in his hair, her voice whispering the words he ached to hear her say …

"_I love you, Spike. I love you so much…"_

And then she was gone, leaving him cold and shuddering.

Where the hell did_ that _come from?

_It's obviously a hangover from that bloody spell of Red's_, he muttered to himself. _The sooner I get this chip out of my head, the better._

Yes. Finn was the key, and sooner or later he would work out how to unlock the door. _One of these days, mate,_ he added to himself, _you're going to realise that you're just not in her league. And then the fat will be in the fire. And I will be there, having myself a jolly good laugh. I'll be waiting …_

_All good things come to those who wait. It's only a matter of time. _

He picked the knife up again and began to sharpen it with a whetstone.

_Kill the Slay-er, kill the Slay-er …_


End file.
